POV Mira
I thought it would be complicated—being tangled up in the lives and hearts of three men who just happened to be brothers. The kind of emotional chaos people warn you about in whispers, the sort of thing that would shatter friendships and burn down bridges. But it wasn’t. Not in the way I imagined.
If anything, it was… intoxicating.
Leo was all control and quiet possession, the kind of man who could anchor me even when I felt like I was caught in a storm. His eyes never needed to be loud; they simply commanded, steady and sure, as if every moment with him was a vow. With him, I felt safe—like nothing in the world could touch me if his shadow was over mine. The way he always shifted to walk on the street side without asking, the way his fingers brushed against mine when passing me a drink before I even noticed I needed one—those weren’t habits. They were promises.
Victor was fire in human form. Playful. Reckless. His love came in sparks and heat, in daring challenges and stolen laughter that set my pulse racing. He’d pull me into a midnight adventure with nothing more than a grin and the words trust me. With him, my worst days became impossible to remember for long. He turned ordinary seconds into something you wanted to replay, just to feel that rush again.
And Milo… Milo was the dreamer, the poet who didn’t just look at me—he studied me like I was an answer to a question only he understood. He carried me in his art, in the way his gaze softened even when my hair was a mess and my makeup was smudged. He made me feel infinite, like if he held my hand, the rest of the world could blur into irrelevance.
Three men. Three ways to be loved. And I… I loved them all.
Amber looped her arm through mine as we walked toward the glowing glass entrance of the gallery Milo had been working on for months. Her perfume was a sharp floral that clung to the night air. “You realize you’re walking into a lion’s den, right?” she said with a wicked smile.
I cut her a side-eye. “They’re not lions.”
“Oh, please.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice just loud enough to make me squirm. “Three gorgeous, territorial, alpha males who all happen to be sleeping with you? Yeah, sure, not lions at all.”
“Amber,” I warned, dragging her forward, but she was already grinning like she’d been waiting for this moment all week.
The moment we stepped inside, the air changed—cool, sharp with fresh paint and varnish, undercut by something warmer, familiar. And there they were. Leo, Victor, and Milo, clustered by the entrance like they’d planned it, each one dressed like they’d just walked out of a magazine cover shoot. Leo in dark tailored perfection, Victor in something that looked careless but fit like sin, Milo in a suit that still carried a hint of paint on the cuff if you looked close enough.
Amber wasted no time. “Well, hello, Mira’s boyfriends,” she said brightly, loud enough for nearby guests to glance over. “Must be nice to have three different dicks every night on rotation.”
My jaw dropped. I smacked the back of her head before she could finish smirking. “Amber!”
Victor choked mid-sip, coughing into his drink as if unsure whether to laugh or deny it. Leo’s brow arched, his gaze flicking to Amber like he was calculating how long it would take to have her escorted out. Milo… Milo just smiled that slow, infuriating smile, like she’d handed him an unwrapped gift.
“Glad you could make it,” Milo said, stepping toward me as though the rest of the room had faded away.
And then I saw it.
Halfway down the main wall, haloed under soft gold light, was me. Not a posed, careful version of me—but raw. Hair tumbling over one shoulder, lips parted, eyes holding something vulnerable and unguarded. I felt my breath catch like my own reflection had just told me a secret.
“You…” My voice faltered, caught between awe and disbelief. My gaze darted from the canvas to him. “You painted me.”
He didn’t look away. “Of course I did.”
Leo and Victor followed my line of sight, and Victor let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Simp.”
“Biggest one I’ve ever seen,” Leo added, his tone dry, though I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Milo’s expression didn’t flicker. “Always,” he said smoothly, “for my woman.”
That broke the composure in both of them. Leo turned his head sharply toward him, Victor’s brows shooting up.
“Our woman,” they corrected together, the words almost overlapping.
The sound of it rolled over me like heat. I didn’t know whether to laugh, blush, or melt into the floor, but I stood frozen under their combined stares.
Around us, the gallery noise hummed back into focus—clinking glasses, murmured admiration for Milo’s other pieces—but it all felt muted. The tension between the four of us was louder than anything else in the room.
And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain. Complicated or not, messy or perfect, this—them—was mine. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.